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To The Waiting Woman Who Longs To Be A Mother

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In my role at Christian Adoption Consultants as I walk with hopeful adoptive parents, one of the things I hope to spread is the importance of listening to all members of the adoption triad: birth mothers, adoptees, and adoptive parents. As Mother’s Day approaches, I’m sharing some letters from members of the triad. As I thought about who I wanted to ask to write a letter to the mamas in waiting, my friend, Kim, immediately came to mind. The Lord has given her a gift for words and she so beautifully shares them below. Thank you, Kim!

To The Waiting Woman Who Longs To Be A Mother

Hello friend,

I rolled out of bed in a bad mood and reluctantly dressed for church. This act of putting on my “Sunday best” was even more unbearable on this ominous day. I scowled aimlessly at the floor and imagined the women who would don matching dresses and the little girls sporting big pink bows. “I’m sure all the little boys were up early picking wildflowers while their fathers made breakfast and let their mommies sleep in”, I muttered mockingly to the empty room. Alone, in my little bathroom, I looked up to put my makeup on – getting the first real glimpse of my angry look and tired eyes. Suddenly, with fierce intensity, my fake bravado melted into body shaking sobs as I realized I was not alone. The God that made me revealed in an instant the deepest recesses of my heart and beckoned me to Him with undeserved patience and grace. As I cried, I could imagine his gentle embrace inviting me to unleash the full weight of disappointment and confusion into his capable hands. I sent up a desperate prayer, “Lord you are the God that weeps with those who mourn. Can you handle my pain? Can you take some of this burden? Can you impart your strength on this day of all days?”

 
I imagine, dear one, that you would prefer to spend this morning hiding beneath your covers in a dark room. Perhaps if you stay there long enough you can pretend this day never came and the longing you feel to be accepted would wait to wash over you another day. The dread and sadness feel palpable and you wonder if you accidentally put that on instead of the dress you pulled from the closet. Running into all of the perfectly coifed women with their darling little bundles would only cause the inevitable barrage of heart questions you work hard to stifle on a moment by moment basis. And you wonder if this is what you are pregnant with. Questions. Heart-wrenching questions. Is there something wrong with me? Did I do something to deserve this? Does God want good things for me? Does He see me?
Will I ever be a Mom?
Love, I have been there. I can walk into that memory as if it’s a panorama that preserved some of my darkest moments. It’s an exhibit I never wanted to visit and I’m deeply sorry that you have been given a ticket to the show. But, I’m happy to sit with you and allow you to cry on my shoulder as you ask the questions that I could never supply a satisfying answer for. Because I learned that this gift of infertility did not give me answers but people. People who tried not to offend, people who tried to understand, people who wept with me in silence, people who bound up the broken places, people who fought beside me in prayer. It was the people God gave me, that led me to understand that my longing to be a mom would only be satisfied in the arms of Jesus. If He wasn’t enough, no child would ever be able to fill that pit.
 
It would be easy to stay home this week – and you can. I get it. But if you can muster the dependence it takes to bravely walk into the world, I believe you’ll find hope lies within the body of believers the Lord is preparing you to encourage. Because while infertility comes at a significant cost, what you buy with your heartache is a gift I would never return. This gift led me to deeper relationship with my husband, a more dependent faith in Christ, an ever-expanding village we call family, and, eventually, six amazing children who grew in my heart. These six jewels in my crown were knit together with providence and foreknowledge. They were on my Savior’s mind as he calmed my sobs and listened empathetically to my burdensome questions. He always saw me. And He sees you too, beloved.
 
So this year, your arms may be empty but I’m praying your heart will be full. If you’re feeling left out try sitting up straight so everyone can see your crown.

                                                            
                                                            His, yours,
                                                                        Kim aka “Mama”

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